


Across The Hall

by captainkippen



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24146974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainkippen/pseuds/captainkippen
Summary: Cyrus Goodman expected a lot of things from college, but TJ Kippen wasn't one of them.
Relationships: Amber/Andi Mack, Buffy Driscoll/Marty, Cyrus Goodman/T. J. Kippen, Jonah Beck/Reed
Comments: 70
Kudos: 228





	1. One

There is going to be a murder in the dorms within the next ten minutes if somebody doesn’t do something about the noise. It’s a Wednesday night, dreary and miserable outside with rain splattering against the window in a relentless drizzle. Cyrus looks up from his book to glance at Buffy. She shifts restlessly in place, a deep frown on her face while she stares at the textbook in front of her with unmoving eyes. They’re due an explosion from her any moment. The room he shares with Jonah is warm and erring on the side of suffocating with the whole gang crowded in. Their friends had come over in an attempt at one last-ditch study session before midterms. Attempts – not successes – because it’s nearly impossible to focus on flashcards and notes when the room across the hall is busy blasting headache-inducing EDM music at full volume.

Again.

Cyrus doesn’t have anything in particular against EDM, but at this point he’d be pretty happy if the entire genre was wiped from the face of the earth. He and Jonah have had to deal with this so often by now that they’ve given up even trying to do anything about. Every time they ( _ they _ being Jonah because Cyrus likes to avoid conflict when possible, he’s a pacifist gosh darn it) visit the guys across the hall it’s resulted in about two minutes of blissful quiet before the music and the boisterous laughter would sound up again like a siren calling out to a sea of rambunctious skater kids dressed as though they’d walked right out of the 1990s. 

Buffy and Andi aren’t much better off. They live only a couple of doors down from the boys and, like Jonah, Buffy has made multiple trips to ask them to be quiet. However, unlike Jonah, patience has never been Buffy’s strong suit. On more than one occasion her visits have ended in heated arguments and door-slamming. She’s now taken to referring to the irritating occupants of Room 201 as ‘The War Criminals’. It’s quite funny on the days when Cyrus has had enough sleep to appreciate the humour of it, but he can’t blame her for hating them. The trouble is that hating them, and arguing with them, seems to do no better than reasoning with them. Buffy fumes, Jonah practically begs, and the noise continues. They’re growing ever-closer to somebody ending up either in jail or buried six feet under as a result. 

Cyrus himself has never actually met the guys from 201, but he’s caught glimpses of them – two tall blondes, the kind of intimidating guys you’d expect to see wearing snapbacks at frat parties – and listened to his friends rage about how inconsiderate they are so many times that he’s resigned himself to being the only reasonable one left in their group. This is mostly because he’s the only one who refuses to encourage homicide as a means to end a dorm feud.

Across the hall, the volume rises a notch. There is nothing soothing about Avicii. 

“I’m just going to go over there,” Buffy announces, throwing her pen down hard enough that ink splatters across her notes. She has a terrifying look on her face. One of her eyes twitches in frustration. 

Cyrus isn’t the only one who’s been waiting for her to snap. Her boyfriend, Marty, groans from his place on the floor and Jonah climbs to his feet ready to back her up. Her tether gets shorter and shorter every time this happens. Tonight might be a new record; they’ve only made it half an hour into their work.

“And do what?” Andi asks from behind a tottering mountain of art history notes. “You know if you try talking to them again you’re just going to get mad, then you really won’t get any work done. They’re not worth it.”

“I’m not getting any work done  _ now _ . All because they can’t just shut the f-”

“You’re gonna give Gus an aneurysm if he has to intervene again,” Marty interjects.

Gus is possibly the best RA they could ask for. He’s a good guy with a lot of patience. He actually seems to care about everyone in the building and he’s always willing to mediate arguments or help look for lost IDs, but even _ saints  _ have limits. Cyrus thinks Marty’s probably right about the aneurysm thing. Gus has broken up three fights between their rooms this week alone.

Buffy huffs, arms folded. 

“Well, what else are we going to do? They don’t listen to anyone else.”

“Babe, they don’t listen to  _ you. _ ”

“They will if I break down their door.”

Cyrus looks down at the essay he’s been writing for his film class. His paragraph on the use of dutch tilts to represent disorientation makes the same point three times in a row. He’s pretty sure he’s not even analysing the right scene. 

“Destruction of property is illegal,” he sighs, putting his notes aside. “No matter how satisfying it would be. And you’d probably end up being the one to pay for it.  _ I’ll _ go.”

Everyone stares at him. Cyrus Goodman? Willingly walking into conflict? It’s practically unheard of. He resists the urge to roll his eyes at them.

“What makes you think they’ll listen to you?” Buffy asks.

He gives her a small shrug. 

“They’ve never met me. When they see you guys it’s like already a basic instinct for them to be-”

“Dicks?”

“-aggravating. They’re already biased. I mean, it’s stupid, but maybe I’ll actually be able to get through to them… plus I’m less likely to get frustrated and lose my cool.”

“He’s got a point,” Andi says. “Cyrus never punched either of them.”

“Wilson deserved it,” Buffy grumbles.

Marty and Jonah both nod in agreement. Cyrus really does roll his eyes this time. When it comes to being overdramatic his friends are truly gold medal champions. He struggles to his feet and stumbles out into the hallway before they can stop him. He shuts the door in the face of their hastily shouted ‘advice’ – he has zero desire to get himself punched by a student-athlete.

It takes rapping on the door a couple of times before he can be heard over the pounding speakers inside, but after a moment it swings wide open. The victim of Buffy’s fist, Reed Wilson, stands smirking in front of him. His mess of golden locks match every vivid description of him ever made on his behalf; Marty had once joked about breaking into 201 shaving his head in the night. They flop down above his eyes, reminding Cyrus of the boy bands he used to have plastered across his bedroom walls as a kid. 

“Nice PJs,” Reed greets him, raising a brow. 

Cyrus folds his arms to cover the front of his shirt. It’s one of his favourites – a baby pink Carly Rae Jepsen top bought by Jonah as a sort-of-not-really joke – and it’s extremely comfortable, thank you very much. It doesn’t quite match the grey plaid pyjama pants or bunny slippers that he’s wearing, but it’s a  _ study  _ night. He’s not Andi, dressing like she’s going to sleep on a catwalk every night. There’s no need to act like he’s trying to impress someone when he’s just going to conk out and drool on his pillow for a few hours.

“Thanks,” he says shortly, then winces. 

Off to a bad start already. He tries to remind himself that he doesn’t want to come off as too judgemental right away. Give them a chance to have an actual conversation. Maybe this is why the others get riled up so easily when they come over here.

“So can I help you with something, or…?”

“Oh, uh. Yeah, actually. I’m Cyrus. I live across the hall.” He practically has to shout as he gestures to their bedroom door behind him. “Would you mind just-”

“Wait,” Reed interrupts. “You're from two-oh-two?”

Cyrus blinks. “Yeah?”

“Does that mean you’re friends with Beck and Driscoll?”

Aren’t they too old for the whole ‘addressing people by their last names’ thing? They’re not in high school anymore. 

“Yes, Jonah and Buffy are my friends.”

“Wow… so, what’s it like to be surrounded by crazy people all the time?” 

Reed grins. Cyrus takes a deep breath and decides not to dignify that with an answer.

“Look, could you just turn the music down a little or something? We’re trying to study. We’ve all got work to do, and midterms are coming up-”

But Reed isn’t listening to Cyrus anymore. His attention is recaptured by something in the room, and after a moment Cyrus realises there’s a voice calling for him.

“REED! Who’s at the door, man?!”

Cyrus cranes his neck a little out of curiosity and Reed kicks the door open further in response. It swings back to reveal the rest of the room. Similarly to Cyrus and Jonah’s room, there are two beds on either side. Both are unmade. Clothes litter the floor and there are half-empty takeout containers on the desks. A small cluster of guys are sprawled across the room, a couple of them playing video games and two others messing around on a laptop. They’ve all paused to stare at Reed and Cyrus.

“Another friendly across-the-hall drop in,” Reed replies airily and waves towards Cyrus.

One of the guys with the laptop, the one who had asked who was at the door, looks surprised by Cyrus’ presence in the doorway. Cyrus is pretty sure he’s Reed’s roommate, he’s seen him around the building a fair few times and he looks far too comfortable sprawled out on one of the beds in a pair of stained sweatpants to just be visiting.

“You’re new,” he says to Cyrus, clicking something on the laptop so the booming music ceases, launching them into sudden and echoing quiet.

“He’s Cyrus, apparently,” Reed says, wiggling his eyebrows. 

The two of them exchange a look which Cyrus cannot decipher, but it gives off the distinct impression that they’re having a silent conversation with their eyes. After a moment, Reed’s roommate leans back on his elbows to regard Cyrus. 

“So where’s your backup? The Sergeant Major Dream Team off duty tonight? I thought it was usually  _ their _ job to come tell us off?”

“I figured it’s safer for everyone involved if they stay in our room,” Cyrus replies dryly. “You know, since murder’s illegal in _ every  _ state.”

To his surprise, TJ throws back his head and laughs. It’s a sweet sound, loud and dorky. Infectious. Cyrus finds the corners of his own mouth twitching, but he’s determined not to give in. 

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he says. “And you’re thinking of our safety and all, I guess we could keep it down.”

“Really?”

Reed nods in agreement and turns back from his friend, chiming in with a surprisingly logical tone. 

“I mean, you’re right. People are studying for midterms. We didn’t realise we were actually being that loud, so… sure.”

Cyrus can’t help but eye them both with suspicion. Never before has it been this easy to get their neighbours to turn down the volume – the others have tried too many times to count on one hand. Even he had doubted the idea of having much luck as he’d crossed over to knock. There has to be some sort of catch.

“You wanna stay and hang out?” Roommate asks, catching him off guard. “We’re gonna order pizza.”

“If I say no will you go back to being loud?”

“No. Just thought you might want a break from studying, you sound like you’ve been working hard.”

He’s not sure how to take that. A small, self-conscious part of him worries it’s a dig. He knows, even if he hates to admit it, that he can be a little vain at times and thus is well aware of the deep purple bags beneath his eyes which have been bothering him in the mirror for the past month or so. It’s not just the loud music which has kept him awake, he’s never done well with exam anxiety, and at night it’s all too easy to start missing home. He shakes it off, trying to refocus.

“I–” In a brief moment of what he likes to think of as ‘dorm induced insanity’, he actually considers staying. The room, despite being a stereotypical picture of teenage mess, doesn’t seem like a bad place to be. Sure, it smells a little like college dudes who need to learn to do laundry properly, but it’s warm and comfortable, and the guys living there haven’t been nearly as hostile as he’d expected. Reed’s roommate even looks a little bit hopeful, like he really does want Cyrus to stay and he’s not just being polite, though he may be imagining that.

“No thanks,” he says after a pause. “I’ve got studying to do.”

“Oh, right. ‘Course. Well, good luck on your midterms then.”

“Thanks,” he says and turns back towards his own door. 

He’s oddly unsettled by the whole thing. If Cyrus is being honest with himself, he thought he’d probably either get laughed at by the boys in the same way he often would back in high school, and that it would end in him letting Buffy act on her rage. A friendly offer to stay for pizza is not at all what he’d imagined happening. 

“Night, Goodman,” Reed says as he closes the door.

“G’night?” Cyrus mumbles back as he wanders back to his own room still trying to process the whole encounter. 

It’s not until the next morning that he realises he never gave them his last name, and Reed’s roommate didn’t give him any name at all.

  
  



	2. Two

TJ starts celebrating before Reed even gets the door closed all the way. The silence which had fallen across the room breaks, his friends laughing as he punches the air in glee, and his roommate rounds on him with an exasperated expression. He can’t even bring himself to look ashamed, let alone feel it. He grins up at him.

“You finally got what you wanted,” Reed huffs, trying not to look too amused as he does. “Does this mean we can stop pissing off all our neighbours now? ‘Cause I’d kind of like to survive long enough to make it to sophomore year and I can’t do that if we get killed by an angry mob before the year ends.”

It’s been about two months since they started college and, therefore, just under six weeks since the first time that TJ ever saw Cyrus Goodman. He had been moving his boxes into the room across the hall at the time, his face red from the exertion of climbing the stairs and a mop of soft brown hair sticking up at odd angles. It had taken all of two seconds for TJ to fall head over heels in love with him, and Reed has been making fun of him for it since.

If he’s being honest, and not busy lamenting about how it’s fate that they were put in rooms right across from one another, TJ will begrudgingly admit that it’s not quite real  _ love _ . It can’t be, yet, because that would actually be insane. Almost like something out of a cheesy romance novel. You can’t fall in love with someone properly when you haven’t even had a full conversation with them, however Reed likes to say that TJ is giving it a very good try. Look, it’s not his fault that Cyrus might be ( _ definitely _ is) the most beautiful guy TJ’s ever seen in his life. He can’t  _ help  _ that he knocked the breath out of him with the very first glance. He isn’t liable for any butterflies that may or may not burst into existence inside of him every time he catches a glimpse of Cyrus in the quad. It’s not his  _ fault. _

He might, though, be willing to admit that his mother raised him to be a little bit of a hopeless romantic, and therefore  _ perhaps,  _ maybe, kind of realise that he’s being a little bit ridiculous. And soppy.

“And absolutely nuts,” Says Reed.

So yeah, TJ might have a little bit of a crush on a guy who doesn’t even really know he exists. But he’s nothing if not determined. It would be a shame, after all, if he didn’t make the effort to see if they could start anything that might possibly have the potential to lead to love in the future. This is the point that he made over and over for a week straight before Reed agreed to help him get Cyrus’ attention – a feat which turned out to be much more difficult than either of them had anticipated -– and since then they’ve had to come up with increasingly ridiculous ways to do so.

“He could be the most boring guy alive for all you know,” Reed had complained one night, after they’d spent several hours zooming down the corridor on rollerskates only for it to end in a disappointed lecture from their RA.

“Still worth finding out,” TJ had replied, then promptly skated into a wall. 

It was at this point that Cyrus appeared, not in the doorway of his room but at the end of the hall, his arms laden with library books. He hadn’t even been in the building. TJ can still feel the phantom bruising of where Reed had thumped him on the arm afterwards, but they didn’t give up.

It only proceeded to get worse.

The problem they’ve been faced with when it comes to ‘Operation Woo Cyrus Goodman’ is a combination of a few factors, the chief one being that in the first couple of weeks (not long after the roller-skating incident) Reed and TJ had bumped into Cyrus and his friends at a bar. Cyrus had already been several sheets to the wind when TJ tried to introduce himself.  _ Tried _ being the keyword here. He had managed to work himself up into a nervous wreck before going over and as a result he’d just ended up clearing his throat, no greeting to follow, and mumbling ‘excuse me’ before sliding right past. Cyrus hadn’t even looked up. TJ couldn’t talk to him, even with his own friends hyping him up to do it. In the end, he’d just turned around and left, red-faced and wishing the ground would swallow him up. He’s still haunted by a pang of embarrassment when he thinks about it now.

Then there’s issue number two. Issue number two comes in the form of absence; Cyrus never seems to be around when TJ is. According to Iris, a cheerful girl in Reed’s art history class, Cyrus pretty much lives in the library when he’s not spending the rest of his time gorging on  _ Baby Taters _ at the diner down the street. This is a problem because, no matter how much they insist it was an accident, the last time TJ and Reed went to the library they ended up getting kicked out for being too noisy. And knocking over a table. And a bookcase. 

They are not the library-studying type. Or the studying-at-all type, really.

It was actually Lester, Reed’s buddy from orientation, who had come up with a solution they could all agree on; Cyrus must come back to the dorms to sleep, right? So it would make sense for him to come over and knock on their door if, say… they were being too loud? Just to ask them to be quiet. Then TJ could apologise and strike up a conversation and they could all skip off happily into the sunset or whatever he wanted to do.

But to the surprise of very few people, it didn’t go quite as planned. The first night they put the plan into effect they  _ did  _ succeed in luring a neighbour to their door, but rather than Cyrus, they had had the pleasure of being faced down by his roommate instead. Jonah Beck is not a bad guy in TJ’s opinion, but he wasn’t Cyrus. He had been pretty easy going at first, but Reed being Reed… he couldn’t help but be a bit of a tool. He still claims it’s because he finds Jonah’s face annoying, but TJ and the boys know the truth. 

Reed’s approach to flirting is… well, ‘stupid’ is the best way TJ can describe it if he’s being honest. It hadn’t taken him long to rile Jonah up and it had ended in an argument that attracted the attention of their extraordinarily exasperated RA. That had been an interesting night, but overall disappointing. The plan had not been a success.

However, Lester insisted they not abandon it. They tried it again a week later and ended up meeting Buffy Driscoll, another neighbour of theirs with a much lower tolerance level for bullshit than Jonah Beck. TJ enjoys arguing with her almost as much as he enjoys catching glimpses of Cyrus around campus, but starting arguments ‘isn’t exactly conducive to a positive dorm environment’ as Gus The RA puts it. The next time they had a disagreement with Buffy and Jonah wasn’t even an attempt to get Cyrus’ attention, it was just that Reed and TJ had a couple of the boys from the lacrosse team over and they were being a lot louder than they realised. It was the start of an ongoing hallway feud that they’d probably feel worse about if it weren’t for the fact that Buffy clearly possessed a vengeful streak – at some point she’d managed to sneak red dye into Reed’s laundry. All of his underwear is now pink.

Whatever. Maturity is overrated, anyway. Reed proved that when he taped cellophane to the girls’ door and waited for one of them to walk into it.

He’s still looking at TJ with a half hopeful, half annoyed expression. 

“Oh, please,” TJ shoots back. “You love arguing with them. You think it’s funny.”

He knows he’s right. Reed knows he’s right. Everyone else in the room knows he’s right.

“Look, you got him to come over, you showed him you’re not a completely intolerable loser, please just find a less noisy way to get his attention. I wanna be able to study too, man.” 

“Ugh, fine. But you have to help me.”

“Well, duh. That was a given. Your flirting is tragic. You’d crash and burn without a wingman. You’re lucky you have us, to be honest.”

“That’s not true!”

“Ha,” Lester snorts, not even bothering to look up from where Walker is crushing him at Halo. “I love you man but you have no idea how to talk to guys you like. Remember that time at the party across the quad, you met that dude in the Pats tee and you started an argument with him about Tom Brady?”

“Yeah, well Tom Brady sucks,” TJ grumbles. “Anyway, that worked out pretty well for me.”

Reed throws an empty take-out container at his head. “Not the point. You’re terrible at first impressions. You always come off all grumpy and shit. Did you know a couple of dudes downstairs are scared of you?”

“I have an idea,” Walker chimes in. 

They all look at him. He continues to destroy Lester’s character on screen. 

“Aren’t you helping set up gay club’s next social?”

“It’s LGBTQ+ Society,” TJ says.

“I respect that, but I don’t have time to say it out loud every time we discuss it.”

Lester hums in agreement. 

“Anyway,” Walker continues. “It’s the Fall Ball, right? Invite him and his friends to that. Make it like a truce sort of thing… a peace treaty almost.”

“You really think that would work?”

“No,” Reed says. “I think Driscoll and Beck would eat us before they hung out with us.”

TJ can tell Walker is rolling his eyes even without looking at him. 

“ _ Yes _ . The ball is for a good cause, and that Andi girl they hang out with is cool. She’s in my figure drawing class, I’ve gone for coffee with her and Buffy before. They don’t exactly scream ‘cannibal’ to me. They’re pretty cool, you guys. You just wouldn’t know because you haven’t actually made an effort to talk to them like normal human beings. Did you know Buffy’s on the track team? And the girl’s basketball team. You might actually get along if you tried. Plus, it also gives you an excuse to talk to Cyrus. Instead of stalking him like a creep.”

TJ nudges Walker’s shoulder with his foot. “It’s not stalking! He literally lives like five feet away from us.”

“Why’re you on his Facebook page so much then when you’re not even friends?”

“Because,” he defends himself slowly, trying to think of a good reason. “One day I’m going to send him a friend request. Probably.”

“You could literally just do that now, it’s not a big deal.”

He groans and flops backs into his pillow.

“It  _ is _ a big deal! Facebook isn’t like Twitter or Insta, you can’t just follow a random guy. You have to know them.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

He sighs. “I know.”

“Okay, then it’s settled,” Says Walker. “When you next see one of the two-oh-two gang, ask them to the Fall Ball. And be nice about it. Reed, you too.”

“Why me? I’m not trying to date any of them.”

Lester snorts. “Please, we all know you’ve got it bad for Jonah Beck.”

“Have not!”

TJ tunes out the ensuing bickering match and focuses on strategizing a game plan. Walker’s right, he has to make an actual move if he wants to get anywhere with getting to know Cyrus. He’s going to invite him to the Fall Ball. He’s going to have an actual conversation with him. Then, he’s going to woo the hell out of Cyrus Goodman. He just needs to figure out how exactly to do that.

“And maybe you should actually introduce yourself next time,” Reed says.

Yeah, that too.


	3. Three

It might be weird for a guy his age, but laundry day is Cyrus’ favourite day of the week. So far college has been pretty much everything he hoped it would be; interesting classes, lots of new friends, the independence to order pizza at three am with extra cheese on top and no certified grownups around to badger him into making healthier food choices. He has yet to meet the man of his dreams and fallen devastatingly in love, but there are three and a half more years to go, so it’s not like he’s in a rush or anything.

Anyway, the point is that college is great, even if he does have nights where he feels like tearing all his hair out and days where three or four existential crises begin to press in at once, he’s settled. Mostly. Well, that’s what he tells his mother when she calls. It’s not like it’s entirely untrue, but the thing is... sometimes it gets a little much. Keeping grades up, making sure his professors don’t hate him,  _ and  _ budgeting for his love of  _ Baby Taters _ . It’s a lot of responsibility, hence his love for laundry day. Laundry day is the one time a week that he’s not surrounded by roommates or classmates or his bundle of insane friends, not that he’s not grateful for them – he is, almost unbelievably so – but from time to time a guy needs space to  _ think _ . Laundry day is his chance to step out for a while and think. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Relaxing, even.  _ So _ relaxing.

“Stupid freakin’ machine,” he huffs to himself for the third time that evening, forcing the stiff door of the washer down. 

He’s tomato-red and sweating, wearing a pair of sweatpants he borrowed from Jonah that he wouldn’t usually be caught dead in outside of their room, but tonight he managed to spill pasta sauce down the crotch of his last pair of clean pants so he doesn’t have much of a choice. Negotiating with the washer has taken more physical strength than it has any right to and the frustration is wearing him down fast. Just when he thinks it can’t get any more maddening that it already is, he manages to catch a finger in the door as he finally gets it shut. Pain sparks through the nerves in his whole hand, sharp and shocking, and he swears loudly. It’s really the cherry on top of an already terrible day.

“Stupid machine,” he grumbles again, giving it a soft kick with his socked foot.

“Well, that’s no way to get it to behave,” an amused voice comes from the doorway.

Cyrus wheels around in surprise, almost dropping the basket he’d just grabbed from atop a neighbouring machine and freezes in place when he sees who it is. 

“You good?” Reed’s roommate (or TJ Kippen as Buffy so helpfully informed him last night) asks, tone caught between laughter and genuine concern. 

He has a large bag of clothes under one arm and the other hand raised in surrender in the kind of manner one might use to approach a frightened animal. Cyrus sighs and puts the basket down again so he has a hand free to push his hair back from his face.

“I’m good,” he confirms, sticking his injured finger in his mouth as if he can suck the pain away.

TJ gestures to the finger in question. 

“War wound?”

“That machine is evil,” he nods, pointing to the offending object.

“Why didn’t you just use that one?”

Another empty washer sits two machines down from the one Cyrus is using. He can feel his own expression darken and he shoves his hands into his pocket.

“Because I’d already committed,” he sighs. “It challenged my honour.”

The bark of laughter TJ lets out surprises both of them. A smile tugs at the corners of Cyrus’ mouth for the first time since he woke up this morning as TJ wanders down the row of machines and pulls open the closest free one. He watches for a moment as he begins to pull out his darks. He’s about to grab his stuff and make a tactical retreat when TJ pipes up again.

“So why the long face?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re looking pretty down, man. You planning a washing machine murder?”

Cyrus really does smile at that, then he leans his hip against his thrumming machine and lets out another heavy sigh.

“It’s been… a day,” he says with a vague gesture.

“Ah,” TJ replies with an understanding nod of his head. “That bad, huh?”

He finishes what he’s doing, closing the door carefully before hopping up to sit on the machine, and pulling a crinkling bag from his hoodie pocket. With a friendly grin he holds it out, offering it to Cyrus.

“Twizzler?”

Well, Cyrus can’t say no . That would be rude. 

“Thanks,” he says, taking one with a grateful smile and joining him atop his respective washer. 

TJ’s grin widens and the pair of them spend the next few moments sitting in silence, just listening to the banging and clanging of the ageing machines around them. The smell of detergent wafts through the air, both overpowering and comforting at the same time. 

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Huh?”

“Your bad day. You wanna talk about it?” TJ gestures around the room, empty of anyone but the two of them. “My therapy couch is open for business if you need to scream or cry or whatever.”

“Thanks Freud,” Cyrus snorts. 

But then he hesitates, biting his lip in uncertainty. On the one hand it seems rude to dump everything on someone he hardly knows, but on the other his mom was always going on about how people shouldn't bottle things up. It might do him some good to share. And TJ  _ had _ offered.

"Not a single thing's gone right today," he admits and he can feel himself starting to unwind already. "My phone charger's broken and I didn't realise, so my battery died and I overslept. I was like forty minutes late to my morning lecture. And then I couldn't find my pen in my bag so I had to ask the guy sitting next to me for one and my professor called me out for disturbing the class."

TJ makes a sympathetic noise and swallows the mouthful of candy he's been chewing. 

"I hate it when they do that," he says. "They totally disrupt the class more by calling on you. It's like, dude, if you'd chilled for one second I could've sorted my shit and we would've been fine, but instead you've decided to pause your whole PowerPoint to embarrass a student. It's dumb."

Cyrus laughs quietly. "Yeah. And that was only the beginning. I got coffee all down my favourite sweater, I'm pretty sure I flunked a stats test and forgot my key so I ended up having to wait for Jonah to get back from his frisbee meet before I could actually get into my room."

"And you didn't even have your phone to entertain you!"

"Exactly."

"That's the worst," he grimaces. "But hey, at least you got a twizzler now."

Cyrus can't help but chuckle as TJ prods him gently with his foot. All the weight that's been pressing on his chest since he woke up is dissipating now, lifting like a mist in sunlight. He marvels at the sensation for a moment, looking down at the twizzler in his hand and turning it over as if it might be magic. When he looks back up he's met with TJ's soft eyes and a smile. Something twists in his gut. 

"So what about you?" He asks, clearing his throat slightly. "How was your day?"

"Meh." The response comes accompanied by a casual shrug. "Average. I was half asleep for most of it to be honest. Reed tried to convince me to go to the bar after class but I wasn't really feeling it, so I told him I have an assignment due in the morning. Can't work out whether I feel bad for lying or not."

"Would he have taken no for an answer if you didn't say you had an assignment?"

"Are you kidding?" He snorts. "He barely took no for an answer after I made up an excuse."

"Then you shouldn't feel bad. That's on him. My friend Amber tries to do the same thing sometimes, it's like she forgets us mere mortals don't all have the energy to go out every other night."

Their laughter echoes around the room, filling it with warmth, and Cyrus struggles to reconcile the image of the sweet boy in front of him listening to him rant about his day with the one of the 'loud, inconsiderate asshole' (Buffy's words, not his) living next door that he'd built up in his mind over the past couple of months. 

"You're not as bad as I thought you'd be."

The words tumble out before he can stop them and he slaps a horrified hand to his mouth. Awkward silence descends upon them. Oh God, he’s killed it. He’s finally making friends with one of their neighbours and he’s already killed it… 

"Gee, thanks," TJ says with a dry smile. "What a compliment."

"I'm sorry," Cyrus groans, covering his face in embarrassment as TJ's giggles grow louder and less controlled. "That didn't come out the way I meant it to."

It takes a moment for TJ to pull himself together, his giggles subsiding in little waves.

"It's totally cool," he waves it off. "I get what you mean. We're probably not the most fun to live next to all the time."

"You'd be fine if you knew where the volume button on your speakers was."

"Ah, but then we wouldn't be doing our duty to educate the masses on the awesomeness of the British grime scene, would we?"

"Last week you played Tina Turner on repeat for four hours."

"We have varied tastes."

"You're a bunch of nightmares in the form of teenage boys," Cyrus grins, then laughs and shoves TJ away as he leans in singing the chorus of  _ Simply The Best _ horribly out of tune. 

They sit there like that until their laundry is done, for a little while after too, talking about music and roommates and everything else under the sun. Cyrus learns that TJ’s going to be a history major and in turn he tells him how he's hoping to direct films. He wants to help create a more diverse environment in the film industry. From there he finds out that TJ thinks Shrek is the best movie of the century – he almost screams, and they argue about its impact as a franchise for five minutes straight. The conversation comes so easily he finds himself wondering how it took them so long to actually talk to one another. After a heated debate about the best movie in the franchise (Cyrus thinks the first one while TJ argues the superiority of number two) they lapse into silence, both trying to catch their breath. A couple of people drift in and out of the room collecting their own clothes, paying no mind to the boys and making the door scrape unpleasantly against the linoleum floor each time. He finds himself scrabbling at threads of conversation, the desire to stay down here and keep talking instead of returning to his room almost overwhelming in strength. Thankfully, in the end he doesn't actually have to say anything. 

“So… I wanted to ask you something, actually,” TJ starts, fiddling with the knee of his pants.

Cyrus raises his eyebrows. 

“Me?”

TJ glances at him in amusement. “No, I’m asking the machine… you see anyone else here right now? Yes, you.”

“You know they say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”

“Maybe I’m just not a very witty guy.”

“Now you’re just being modest.”

They smile at one another and for a second Cyrus finds himself getting caught up in the flecks of green in his eyes. TJ has the kind of face that his Bubbe Rose would fawn over, calling him handsome and pinching his cheeks like an old woman out of a sitcom. Something in his chest flutters lightly. He clears his throat.

“So, you were saying?”

“What?” TJ asks, then brightens. “Oh, right. Sorry. So there’s this dance coming up-”

“The Fall Ball? The one hosted by the LGBTQ+ Society.”

The LGBTQ+ Society is pretty notorious for throwing some of the most exciting parties on campus. From what he’s heard, the Fall Ball is supposed to be a pretty opulent affair, it’s all black tie and champagne. Everybody goes the extra mile for it, getting dressed up and bringing dates, raising money for the society and their chosen charity of the year. He’s been meaning to get involved with more societies since the Freshmen Fair – Film Society is fine, but a little snobby and he’d like to meet more people – but somehow has never found the time.

“That’s the one,” TJ says. “So I was thinking, if you’re not busy-”

It’s with a loud clanging sound that his words are cut off. The door flies open, hinges squealing wildly. It comes into contact with the wall and makes an almighty clattering sound, startling both of them and forcing Cyrus to scrabble wildly for purchase as he almost topples from his perch in surprise. Andi appears in the doorway.

“Sorry,” she says, sheepishly. “That wasn’t supposed to be so violent… oh. Am I interrupting?”

Yes , Cyrus thinks with a sigh, but he shakes his head to reassure her anyway. 

“Nah,” TJ says, glancing between the two of them. “We were just hanging out. Gotta make sure we guard our clothes, right? I can’t afford to lose any more socks.”

Andi lets out a relieved laugh looking a little surprised at herself, or maybe she’s just surprised to find Cyrus sitting with one of the boys who has spent the last two months disrupting their entire floor as though they’re friends.

What's up?" He asks.

"Oh! Um, could you come upstairs? Jonah's all," she makes a motion that Cyrus takes to mean 'Jonah is having a panic attack please help' and he nods, sliding off the machine and grabbing his basket of clothes from the floor.

"I gotta," he motions his head to the door where Andi has just disappeared again and TJ nods.

"We should do this again sometime," he suggests.

"Definitely," Cyrus agrees, heading out the door. "We never agreed about Shrek, after all."

TJ's laugh follows him out. The sound of it doesn't leave him for the rest of the night.

  
  



	4. I. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short interlude with Jonah and Reed.

Jonah’s breath comes out in puffs, lingering in the air for a moment like the morning mist hanging low over the damp grass at the centre of the track field. It dissipates as he runs on, leaving no trace of his presence behind. It’s just gone seven-thirty and the sky is finally starting to brighten. It’s quiet outside, as it always is on early Saturday mornings, with most of the really hardcore runners having come and gone already. None of his friends came to join him. They’re all still fast asleep.

It had been Buffy and Marty who had gotten Jonah into running, inviting him along when he would get too stressed about classes at the beginning of the year, and eventually it became a part of his routine. But when he woke up this morning, chest still heavy and hands still a little shaky from anxiety, the need to get out and breathe had almost been overwhelming. Dealing with Buffy and Marty’s weird competition-driven flirting isn’t something he can handle today – not when it seems like the sky might fall in at any moment. So, he runs alone and hopes the burning in his legs and lungs is enough to exorcise everything else tearing through him at the moment. He thinks if he goes on long enough then he might just be able to forget who he is for a little while.

It’s only about fifteen minutes after he starts that he realises he’s not running alone after all. 

“Heads up,” comes a voice from behind him and a second later a figure comes bounding past him.

Jonah can only watch in mild bemusement as Reed races around the track. Who on earth starts their Saturday mornings with sprints, he wonders to himself. What’s he even doing here this early? As far as he knows Reed plays baseball and that’s it – most of the baseball team seem to avoid any other form of exercise.

It takes another half-lap for Reed to burn himself out and when Jonah’s slow jog eventually catches up to him he looks up, grinning, with sweat decorating his brow and his breath coming out in pants. 

“‘Sup,” he greets him. “Perfect weather for a run, huh?”

The darkening clouds loom ominously overhead. Jonah keeps moving.

A couple of seconds later he hears the footsteps behind him start up again, gaining on him fast, but this time Reed doesn’t race past. Instead, he matches Jonah’s pace and runs alongside him as though it’s the kind of thing they do together every day. 

“They should really fix that,” he remarks, nodding towards one of the floodlights which has been flickering erratically every morning for a couple of weeks now. Jonah makes a noise of agreement and tries to refocus on his pace. They continue on like that for the next half an hour, Reed making odd comments here and there about nothing in particular while Jonah ignores him. It’s only when they stop that Jonah realises he’s drained his water bottle completely.

“Here,” says Reed.

Jonah hesitates for a second before taking the bottle offered to him and gets an amused expression in response.

“What, you think I poisoned it or something?”

“I dunno,” Jonah shrugs, but takes it anyway. “You might’ve done.”

“I think if anyone here is gonna commit murder it’s more likely to be you, man. Or is that more Driscoll’s kind of thing?”

“Maybe it’d be less her kind of thing if you didn’t keep provoking us.”

“I think I like the risk,” Reed grins. “What are you doing out this early anyway?”

“What does it look like?”

“Well, it looks like you hate yourself mostly. I don’t know anyone who runs this early on a Saturday.”

“Why are you even here, then? You’re not a runner.”

“Neither are you.” 

They stare at one another for a moment and Jonah’s throat constricts from the strange intimacy of it. He jerks his head away, taking a long swig of Reed’s water under his watchful gaze, and then looks to the gloomy sky.

“I just came out here to think.”

“Oh I see,” Reed says, nodding as he takes a seat on the nearby bleacher. “I get it.”

He frowns and sits down next to him, returning the water bottle. “What do you get?”

“You’re James Dean.”

“I- what?”

“James Dean,” he repeats, then lowers his voice in a terrible impersonation. “The whole  _ ‘I’m so deep. I’m so troubled. Nobody really understands me.’ _ ”

Jonah splutters slightly, lost for words, then thumps him while Reed’s laughter echoes around the track. 

“Seriously though,” Reed asks after a moment. “What’s up?”

“Why do you care?”

“Oh, this is just really terrible espionage. I’m gathering information that I can use to annoy you with later,” he deadpans. “I don’t know, asshole. ‘Cause you look all… uh. Bugged. Or whatever. I just figured maybe you’d wanna talk about it.”

Jonah considers this for a second, searching Reed’s face for any sign that he’s being teased, then sighs. It could be a good thing maybe. Talking to somebody who doesn’t know him, somebody who won’t jump in trying to fix all his problems immediately without really listening, and just get it all out. His therapist keeps telling him it’s important to open up. Repression just weighs you down and all that. He clears his throat. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t know what’s up. I have like panic attacks, y’know? And they come out of nowhere for no reason. They make you feel like you’re going to die. Like your heart starts racing and you can’t breathe properly and everything is about to end. For no reason. They’ve been getting worse all semester. I had one last night… I couldn’t get to sleep after. I don’t know. It’s dumb.”

“It’s not dumb,” Reed says. “It sucks, but it’s not dumb.”

He waits for Reed to say something else, something like ‘you just need to relax’ or ‘maybe you should try meditation’, but no more words follow. They just sit there, the cold air now biting at their idle skin. It’s oddly peaceful. For the first time since last night, the buzzing feeling that hums throughout him slows and he takes a deep breath. 

“What about you?” He asks again.

Reed just shrugs. “Woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep. Figured I might as well do something instead of just lying in bed, I guess. I kinda hate weekends. Is that weird? There’s nothing to do.”

Jonah gets it. When there’s no class or club meetings, and on weekends where he just doesn’t have enough money to go out to a bar, things get too quiet. He gets left alone with his thoughts, every terrible feeling coming back to haunt him in the silence, then he struggles to breathe again.

“It’s not weird,” he says. “Weekends are boring.”

“Right.”

“Yeah.”

“...you wanna get breakfast?” Reed asks.

At the mention of food, Jonah’s stomach rumbles fiercely and Reed snickers. 

“Okay,” he agrees. “Showers first though.”

“‘Course. I don’t think the diner will let us in like this, man. No offence, but you reek right now.”

Jonah thumps him again and pretends that Reed’s laughter doesn’t make him want to laugh too. 

  
  



	5. Five

"You know you're gonna have to stop moping eventually."

TJ grunts in response. He is not moping, no matter what Walker says. He is just sitting in the closet, listening to Adele on repeat, and refusing to talk to anyone. Could a moping man listen to  _ Someone Like You _ without crying? No way.

...Okay, so maybe he's being a little dramatic, but everyone has the right to go a little wild sometimes, right? It’s been three days since his evening in the laundry room with Cyrus and, man, they’d had such a great time. A part of him had been worried that talking to Cyrus for real would be disappointing, like he might’ve built him up too much in his head, but that hadn’t been the case at all. It was  _ amazing.  _ Talking to Cyrus feels like talking to someone he’s known for years… which makes it all the more frustrating that he didn't succeed in asking him out. He had been so  _ close. _

_ 'You didn't actually get rejected though,' _ murmurs a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Reed.  _ 'You just didn't get the question out.' _

Still. It bothers him. They had been getting along so well, it had all been going so smoothly, and there couldn’t have been a more perfect time to ask him. Curse Andi Mack and her artsy clothes and her annoying interruptions. 

A little twinge of guilt tugs at his chest. It’s not really Andi’s fault. Cyrus' friends had clearly needed him that night. TJ has had two conversations with him. He doesn't get to be selfish about that. Sighing to himself, he switches from Adele to Brand New and comforts himself with the thought that Reed isn't here to laugh at him. He's been conspicuously absent since the first time that he had opened the cupboard to find TJ curled up in there and announcing, "Enough is enough."

What had he even meant by that? Whatever. It doesn't matter. Jesse Lacey's voice is more comforting than Reed's anyway.

_ ‘He keeps his hands low, he doesn't wanna blow it. He's wet from head to toe and his eyes give her the up and the down. His stomach turns and he thinks of throwing up…’ _

The door bangs open, flooding the cupboard with light and TJ winces as he looks up.

"I thought Reed was joking," comes an amused voice.

His stomach turns over in excitement and he's scrambling up, launching himself out of the cupboard and pulling his headphones out at top speed. He and Kira go flying back onto his bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

"You're here!" He crows. "What are you doing here?!"

From beneath him, Kira squawks loudly, laughing, and shoves at his shoulder still trying to catch her breath. She looks every bit the same as she did when he last saw her two months ago, big brown eyes and carefully styled hair. She's a welcome sight. 

"Reed called me," she explains as he rolls off and flops beside her. "Said it was an emergency because you were going nuts and it was bringing the mood of the whole dorm down."

Reed hangs in the doorway looking smug. TJ flips him the bird, but can't keep the smile off his face as he does so. Kira has been his best friend since they were eight years old and his family had just moved in next door to hers. They'd been practically inseparable growing up, in fact college was the first time they'd truly been away from one another. She's still in her senior year of high school. Leaving her behind had been the  _ worst.  _

"I can't believe you're here!" TJ says again, grinning. 

Sitting up, she rolls her eyes.

"Me neither. You wouldn't believe how long it took my mom to let me drive up here by myself -- you'd think I was going to crash the car or something."

TJ hides a smirk. Kira is a  _ terrible  _ driver. The first time he ever got in the car with her she almost drove them right into a pole.  _ Almost. _

"Plus I had to get her to let me skip school today. Told her it was an emergency. She's definitely going to be calling your parents. Anyway," she continues. "What's up? Have you really been locked in the closet all weekend?"

He hesitates. It all seems kind of dumb now he thinks about it. The sun is out, the grass is green, Kira is here, and there will be more chances to ask Cyrus Goodman out. 

"Just school stress," he says, ignoring the raised eyebrow which Reed sends his way. "Doesn't matter. Tell me what's going on with you ."

Spending the day with Kira is the best fun TJ has had in weeks. It's easy to forget, when you're away from your friends, how much fun it is to be around people who know you as well as they know themselves. Once he's changed out of his sweats and made himself presentable for human society, the two of them head out across campus to grab some early morning ice cream (carefully avoiding the buildings TJ is meant to have class in today so as not to risk running into one of his professors). They wander around arm in arm and catch up on all the gossip from back home while vanilla drips melt down their hands. 

TJ learns that Kira has met a guy at school, some new kid who's taking photographs for the sports page of the school paper, and she spends a good ten minutes viciously shredding apart the guys' entire character before quietly admitting she might maybe be into him a little bit. In return, TJ relents and gives up the details of his ridiculous crush on the boy next door. It feels good to talk about Cyrus with someone new, someone who hasn't met him before or spent the last couple of months harassing neighbours with him to get his attention. Kira teases him for a while, but there's no malice behind it.

"It's cute," she croons, booping his nose with her finger while he bats her away. "I've never seen you like this over a guy. Well, except Harry Styles. But that's not the same. Are you going to introduce him to your parents soon? Ask for his hand in marriage?"

"Shut up," he grumbles, feeling himself going red. “We’re not even dating.”

“Yet.” 

He elbows her, hard, and she laughs but changes the subject all the same.

"I can't wait until I go to college," she says, looking around. "It's way less boring here than at home. And there's no one to tell you what to do."

TJ snorts.

"You should try rooming with Reed," he says. "He acts more like a mom than my own mom sometimes."

"Well, Mrs K’s always been a bit of a wildcard anyway. Someone's got to keep you in check."

He shoves her ice creams into her face and she makes a loud squawk of indignance before getting him back immediately with his own ice cream. They’re still cleaning the mess off themselves when TJ spots one of his professors exiting the nearby building and grabs her wrist, still snorting with laughter, pulling her away and out of sight.

"So," she says, when they're finally back at his room and wiping the last remnants of sticky cream from their faces. "You're still gonna ask him, right?"

"What?" TJ asks, half distracted as he fights to retrieve a stray sprinkle from his nostril.

"That guy," she waves her hand vaguely. "Cyril or whatever."

"Cyrus?"

"That's the one."

TJ shrugs. His earlier optimism dwindles slightly. The more he's been thinking about it the colder his feet have got. They've only really talked twice, even if one of those conversations went on for the better part of an evening, and he has no idea if Cyrus even looks at him as someone datable. It doesn't seem like he finds TJ totally reproachable now, but that could just mean he doesn't hate having him as a neighbour.

"I don't know."

Kira throws a pillow at him.

"You gotta shoot your shot, man," she says. "Or you'll be mad at yourself forever."

He sighs as he flops back on the bed. She's right, of course, but somehow that doesn't make the prospect of getting rejected any less terrifying.

  
  
  
  



	6. Six

"Hey! Hey, Cyrus!"

At first, Cyrus doesn't hear the voice calling after him as he wanders out of a statistics class. He’s too busy rummaging through his bag for the paper he needs to hand in next class. He knows it's in here somewhere. He definitely packed it, right? It was right under his nose when he woke up at his desk this morning, so he must have. If only his bag wasn't filled with every note he's ever taken under the sun…

"Cyrus!" Someone taps him on the elbow and he whirls around in surprise. 

Jacob Szabo, a lacrosse player who sits in the back row of his English lectures, stands there clutching his side and wheezing. He smiles at Cyrus as he catches his breath, then straightens up. The two of them share a few classes, they’ve talked a fair few times while waiting for professors to show up before, and every time he has been unfailingly sweet. Buffy and Andi like to insist that Jacob’s into Cyrus, but they think that about every guy who speaks to him so he’s past trusting their ‘instincts’. 

"Oh hey, Jacob," Cyrus replies, returning to his search. It continues proving fruitless. "What's up?"

It has got to be in here somewhere!

"Oh, nothing much," Jacob shrugs, tapping a nervous foot against the floor. "I just saw you coming out and I- uh, well. Do you want to go for coffee or something?"

"Can't, sorry. I've got another class-"

He owns too many pens. No one could possibly need this many pens. Half of them don’t even  _ work _ .

"Oh, okay."

Cyrus doesn't notice the dejected tone, nor does he look up to see the disappointment rolling over Jacob's face in that moment.

"See you around I guess."

"Yeah," Cyrus agrees. "See you!"

Aha! Cyrus finally pulls out his paper as Jacob lopes off, grinning to himself in triumph. He knew it was in there. Thank goodness. He can’t afford another failing grade.

"What was that?" Buffy demands, materialising behind him with a look of sheer exasperation etched onto her face.

On Mondays, the two of them have classes in pretty much the same buildings all day. It's not quite as good as getting to sit with your friend in an actual class, but it does mean they can walk from class to class together and they always wait outside the lecture halls for one another. 

"What?"

"That." 

She gestures in the vague direction of Jacob Szabo and Cyrus frowns at her in consternation.

"You just totally blew him off again. You got asked on a date by a cute guy and you didn't even look at him when you said no!"

"What? Oh, not this again. He wasn't asking me on a date!"

"Cyrus."

She stares at him expectantly and he thinks back over the exchange. It's not the first time Jacob's asked if he wanted to get coffee sometime, but Cyrus always took the 'sometime' to mean that it was a vague offer done out of politeness rather than anything genuine. Then again, Jacob does ask to borrow pens from him a lot… and he brings him coffee to class sometimes...

"Oh," he says.

"Yeah."

"I didn't realise."

"Jesus, you’re so oblivious. Are you gonna go after him?"

"If I go after him now I'll be late for class. I'll text him later or something."

"You've got his number?" Buffy raises an eyebrow. 

"Well yeah, for study reasons."

"For study reasons."

Cyrus glares at her. She smiles.

"I'm just saying," she says as she steers them around the corner to the neighbouring building. "You're allowed to have a little bit of fun once in a while. Why not say yes? Let your hair down. Go wild. Go crazy. Go on a date."

"But I don't really know him…" Cyrus starts. 

Buffy cuts him off.

"That's the whole point of a date, Cy," she sighs. "To get to know someone. I'm not saying you have to marry the guy or anything. But he's cute right? Not an asshole or anything?"

Cyrus shrugs.

"No, he's nice."

"Then there you go."

"I guess I could…"

"Great!" She claps her hands together with an excited grin. "You know the Fall Ball is coming up, you still need a date. Why don't you ask him?"

He falters. He and TJ had talked about the Ball in the laundry room together the other night, however briefly, hadn't they? After several hours of talking about everything else ever in the world. It had been nice, pleasant, and if the memory of it brings on a funny tingling sensation every time Cyrus thinks about it then it's nobody's business but his own. But TJ had started to say something about it... he'd said he wanted to ask Cyrus something. Hope niggles wildly at his chest. TJ’s pretty green eyes and loud laugh seem so close all of a sudden. What if…?

"I'll think about it," he assures Buffy and she does an excited little dance in response.

True to his word, he does think about it. He’s still thinking about it when he comes out of his last class of the morning. He trudges out into the quad contemplating the idea of dating Jacob Szabo. He doesn’t know all that much about him, aside from the fact he plays lacrosse and he’s pledging for one of the bigger fraternities down on Greek Row. But that’s sort of the point of dating, right? To get to know someone? Before the other night he didn’t know that TJ Kippen was a secret softy who shares his candy with sad strangers, if they hadn’t met in the laundry room then he still wouldn’t. He could get to know Jacob like that… somehow, though, he doubts Jacob is the kind of guy with strong opinions on the Shrek franchise. He wonders if he could laugh with him in the easy way he and TJ laughed the other night. It wouldn’t be so bad, right? After all, it would get his friends off his back. Marty would stop offering to set him up with members of the track team, Andi would stop trying to convince him to get Tinder, and maybe he’d have someone to go see the Christmas lights in town with. He trudges toward one of the many coffee carts dotted around, pulling out his phone and trying to distract himself. The jitters of caffeine withdrawal are beginning to grasp at his hands now.

Loneliness pangs in his chest as he looks up and sees a couple walking arm in arm up ahead. They look comfortable, leaning into one another and laughing quietly… hang on. He frowns.

Something ugly twists at Cyrus' insides. It’s TJ, he realises. TJ with a girl he doesn’t recognise. She's pretty, with carefully styled dark curls bouncing around her shoulders and a wide smile. They’re laughing together, arms linked, and eating ice cream crones. She’s looking at him the same way Buffy looks at Marty when she can’t decide whether she’s more annoyed or in love with him.

Then, TJ smushes ice cream into the girl's face. She makes a stunning noise of outrage, drawing the attention of everybody in the quad, but it's followed by her returning the favour and covering TJ's spluttering face in cold goo too. They're beside themselves with laughter, trying and failing to wipe the cream from their faces, and then TJ’s straightening up and pulling her away. They disappear, leaving Cyrus to stare after them. 

The cashier at the coffee cart has to snap his fingers to get Cyrus' attention. It's not until that moment that he realises he's made it to the front of the line.

"Hey, bro, can I help you?" 

"Uh… sorry," he says, before hurrying out of the way. 

Stupid, he thinks. Stupid to have let himself believe TJ could have possibly been trying to ask him out. He always does this, every time he thinks a guy is even vaguely interested he gets carried away and forgets himself. God, TJ’s probably been about to ask Cyrus' advice on getting a girl to go with him or something. Why would he ask out a guy he barely knows, anyway? Cyrus is so stupid.

The pang of loneliness returns, tenfold. 

Thinking back to what Buffy said this morning, Cyrus opens his contacts. She's totally right. He deserves some fun. He needs to stop living in the land of make believe inside his head and start actually putting himself out there. There are guys that do want to go out with him, after all.

The phone rings twice before it's picked up.

"Hey Jacob," he says with a smile.


	7. Seven

It’s taunting him. The little button is taunting him. TJ glares at the screen and wills his finger closer to the touchpad. It doesn’t move. He sighs, sitting back with a noise of frustration and stretching out to click his joints. He’s been sitting at his desk for twenty minutes now, trying to get up the nerve to press the button. It shouldn’t be this  _ hard. _

**‘Add Friend +’** stares back at him, smug and pixelated. To the left of the button, Cyrus’ face beams out of the screen. It’s a good picture, a candid taken at what looks like a family barbecue of some sort, he looks relaxed and happy. He’s saved from yet another twenty minutes of agonised indecision by the door banging open behind him. Reed greets him by launching his jacket at his face, and TJ ducks just in time. Reed returns his middle finger with a lazy grin.

“‘Sup,” he says, sitting down on his bed to pull off his boots. 

Reed’s hair is mussed, which is odd because TJ knows for a fact that it was combed back into a careful sweep before he left for class today. He’d hogged the mirror for a solid half hour to get it right. He raises an eyebrow and wheels around in the chair to face him properly. 

“Good day?” He asks.

Reed shrugs, tossing his boots to the side and grabbing a book from his side table. Indifference radiates from him, but there’s a strange twitch going on at the corner of his mouth. TJ tries to catch his eye, but he ducks behind the pages.

“It was alright.”

“Anything interesting happen?”

“Nah, just class.”

Hm. Alright then, Reed could keep his secrets, but TJ hadn’t missed the way his leg was jittering the way it did when he was excited about something. He twisted back around in his chair and returned to his staring contest with the computer. Reed lowered his book.

“What’re you doing?”

“Nothing.”

He’s not quick enough. Reed has cast the book aside and stood up before he can slam the lid shut, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Oh my God,” he says. “Again, dude? Are you trying to win a world record for the most desperate pining of all time? This is getting embarrassing. You’re a grown man, mostly.”

“I know,” TJ groans, burying his face in his hands. “I know. It’s actually pathetic. Every time I go to click it, I freak out. I haven’t felt like this since I went out for the basketball team in like eighth grade.  _ Help  _ me, Reed.”

“Christ. What is it about this dude that makes you so nervous?”

“I don’t know! I’ve never been this weird about anyone else I’ve liked. He’s just so  _ nice _ . And funny. And he smells so  _ good,  _ seriously. Like coconut. I feel like one of those swooning rich ladies from a romance novel.”

When he turns his head to peer at his friend, Reed is staring at him with a distinctly unimpressed look on his face. TJ suspects he might have reached a new level of ridiculous with that confession. 

“Coconut. Really?”

“ _ Help me, Reed. _ ”

“Okay, okay. Jeez, calm down. Look, I’ve got a plan. Sit up.”

TJ frowns, but does as he’s told.

“What are you gonna do?”

Reed doesn’t answer. They look at one another for another beat, and then, before TJ can stop him, Reed leans forward and smacks the mouse as hard as he can. 

**Friend Request Sent** leers at TJ maliciously. 

“Oh my God,” he says faintly. “I hate you so much.”

Reed rolls his eyes. “You’ll thank me later. Seriously, you need to snap the hell out of whatever freakish meltdown you’re having and deal with your feelings like a grownup. Boys like Goodman want emotional security, not Facebook-fearing lunatics.”

“Alright, Oprah. If you know so much about boys like Cyrus, then you can tell me how to ask him out without throwing up.”

He shrugs. “Even a genius like me can’t work miracles, Teej.”

TJ throws a pillow at him. Reed launches it back twice as hard.

After clearing up the destruction caused by their ensuing scuffle, Reed disappears to shower and TJ is charged with picking up their dinner. Nutrition in the form of five different meat toppings and extra stuffed cheesy rusts – the pizzeria around the corner is a magical place to be. He’s heading out into the corridor, only half keeping a hopeful eye on the door of 202, when he bumps straight into somebody else and goes reeling back. 

Buffy Driscoll eyes him with contempt as she picks up the bag of snacks she’d dropped as they collided. It’s raining hard outside and from the looks of it she got caught out, water dripping from the ringlets of hair escaping her bun.

“Wow, Driscoll. I didn’t know you were on the swim team.”

“Funny,” she sneers, pushing past him to head towards her own room. 

He bites back a laugh and heads on out. Ever since they first met at the beginning of the semester, all of his interactions with Buffy have been fraught with an unpleasant friction. He knows it’s partly his fault, after all he only helped to escalate it with all the failed attempts to get Cyrus’ attention, and he might feel badly about it if it weren’t for the fact that she gives back just as good as she gets. They rub each other the wrong way. He’s not sure that will ever change. She probably wouldn’t even accept it if he tried to make amends, he and Reed irritate her too much.

It’s still pouring when he gets outside. With a grimace, he pulls his hood up and huddles further into his coat. If it weren’t for the fact that they had an order waiting at the store already, he would just turn right back around. Soon though he forgets to worry about the weather because his phone pings and as he pulls it out of his pocket, he could swear his heart skips a beat. 

**Cyrus Goodman accepted your friend request.**

He’s still debating what to do when it pings again, and his pulse picks up. Jesus Christ, this boy is going to give him a heart attack. He stares at the message notification. What if Cyrus thinks he’s a freak for adding him? What if he was only humouring him when they talked the other night? What if he’s weirded out by TJ? A fresh wave of nausea makes its home in his gut as he opens Messenger.

**New Message from Cyrus Goodman:**

_ Feel like battling some laundry machines again tonight? _

Panic subsiding, TJ grins to himself and begins to type. 

The rain continues through the entire week and halfway into the next, casting an aura of misery across campus. By Friday though, TJ himself is anything but miserable. He slips into the library quietly, shaking the rain from his umbrella and ignoring the dirty looks from the girls sitting at a table nearby before heading for the back. It’s a beautiful building, all old brownstone and high ceilings. Ageing stacks loom high above him, filled to bursting with every book a student could possibly want and every piece of dust the building has ever managed to accumulate in the past however many years the university has existed. In the past few days, TJ has discovered what he and Reed failed to appreciate in the beginning; peace. Nobody will bother you in the library, not because of the rules but more because most of the time they physically  _ can’t _ . The library is filled with all sorts of hiding places. There are tables tucked away into awkward corners that bigger groups avoid, there are entire sections filled with such obscure books that nobody ever visits them, and if you get there early enough you can snag the table by the window right at the back where the librarians rarely go. 

This is where he finds Cyrus, head bent over a thick notepad and his laptop open beside him. When he concentrates, his tongue sticks out a little from the corner of his mouth, and TJ stops to appreciate the sight for a moment. A warm fondness sweeps over him.

“Guess what I brought,” he whispers, sliding a pack of Twizzlers onto the table.

Cyrus startles for a second, clutching his chest like a scandalised old lady, then laughs and tugs off his headphones. 

“You scared me!”

“Awesome, my plan to launch a career as a horror movie villain is on track then.”

Cyrus snickers. “You’re so weird. C’mon, sit down.”

He does so, gladly. They’ve been hanging out a lot lately. After the second laundry night, which they spent eating Cheetos and gabbing about the historical accuracy of costumes in various period dramas, it had become pretty routine for them to start texting each other updates through the day. So far they’d met at four different coffee carts, grabbed lunch from the dining hall together twice, walked to classes together and started hanging out at the library. The more time they spend together, the more fun TJ finds himself having. There was something about Cyrus that made everything so simple. He’s easy to talk to, they share a stupid sense of humour, and silence is never uncomfortable with him. They just click. It’s amazing.

Despite this deep sense of ease, he still hasn’t worked up the nerve to ask Cyrus out for real. Every time he opens his mouth to do it he either panics and changes the subject or makes an excuse to go, leaving a baffled looking Cyrus behind him and wanting to launch himself into the sun. It’s hard, this being head-over-heels for someone business, he’s never struggled like this before.

“What are you listening to?”

Instead of answering, Cyrus offers him one of the headphones. TJ pulls his seat over so he can reach, then takes it. Their arms press up against one another as they little. The distant sounds of the rain smattering against the window outside and Hozier’s delicate voice wash over them in a soothing melody punctuated only by Cyrus’ typing. He’s working on an English assignment, and TJ watches him quietly for a while without bothering to pull his own work out. Every so often one of them shifts and their knees knock together, or their ankles brush, and something inside of him aches to reach out and intertwine their fingers. 

_ ‘...we lay here for years or for hours, your hand in my hand, so still and discreet, so long we become the flowers…’ _

Eventually, Cyrus stops typing. He leans back, rubbing his tired eyes and stretching out. The movement presses them closer together and TJ takes a deep breath as Cyrus smiles.

“Sorry, I feel like I’ve been ignoring you.”

TJ shrugs. “No biggie. You’ve got work to do, it’s cool.”

“Don’t you have any?”

“I’ll do it later, I’m just here for the company.”

Cyrus ducks his head, face breaking out into a shy smile. He doesn’t say anything in response, just picks up his pen and starts taking notes, but the smile lingers and TJ feels altogether too pleased with himself. Forcing himself not to stare at the shadow of stubble at the edge of Cyrus’ jaw, he directs his gaze to the window and watches as small rivulets of water trickle down the cool glass. At their crooked little table, surrounded by walls of bookshelves and silence, it feels like they’re existing in their only little world. Like nothing else matters. 

_ ‘...I’d be home with you, I’d be home with you…’ _

Clearing his throat, he makes a decision. 

“Cy.”

“Hm?” Cyrus glances up at him, that smile still dancing on his lips. TJ’s stomach gives a lurch. Deep breaths. 

“You wanna get dinner? Once you’re done studying?” 

“Sure,” Cyrus says easily, glancing back to his work. “I’ve just got to…” TJ sits frozen, a vibrant festival of emotions exploding into life inside his head, and then Cyrus’ smile falls and he turns back to look at him. “Wait, shoot. I can’t.”

The festival screeches to a hall. 

“I’ve already got plans,” he says apologetically. 

“What’re you doing?”

“I’ve got a date.”

The festival bursts into flames and is washed away by a wave of thick disappointment. 

“Who with?” TJ asks, because he’s a glutton for punishment, and hopes Cyrus doesn’t notice the way his voice strains.

“Uh,” Cyrus scratches the back of his neck nervously. “This guy in my English class? Jacob Szabo? We went for coffee last week and I said I’d go to the bar with him.”

TJ knows Jacob. There’s a lot of crossover in social circles when it comes to the sports teams, and the half the basketball team rooms with lacrosse players. Jacob is a pleasant guy, if a bit competitive. He’s always been nice to TJ. They fist bump when they see each other. All of a sudden, TJ wants to fist bump his face. Hard.

But that’s not fair. It’s not Jacob’s fault that he had enough sense to ask Cyrus out before anyone else could.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“That’ll be… fun.”

Cyrus nods, and TJ goes back to watching the rain come down. The silence between them is considerably less easy than before.

  
  
  
  
  



	8. II. Interlude

Reed’s laugh echoes through the bar, drawing the attention of the tables nearby. He ignores them, leaning against the pool table and clutching his side as he tries to catch his breath. It’s the middle of the week,  _ Archer’s  _ – the seedy bar just off the corner from campus – is all but deserted, the small collection of other patrons being mostly tired old truckers. It smells like cigarettes in spite of the fact smoking is banned inside and the warm orange lights hanging overhead cast an unflattering glow across everyone beneath them. It’s far from an ideal place to hang out, but here he is, and Jonah Beck is with him, looking at him with this dopey fond expression like he can’t decide whether Reed’s the best thing he’s ever seen or just an idiot.

“It’s not that funny,” Jonah murmurs, but there’s a smile playing at the edge of his mouth and Reed can’t help but laugh again.

“Oh, man,” he claps him on the shoulder, letting the touch linger only a second too long before leaning over to cue up. “You’re the only person I know who could  _ sneeze candle wax  _ all over a wall.”

He makes his shot, crowing obnoxiously when three balls roll safely into the table’s pockets. Jonah rolls his eyes, hip-checking him out of the way, and lines up to take his own turn.

“I didn’t  _ sneeze candle wax,  _ okay,” he said. “I sneezed, and the candle wax  _ happened _ to spray all over the wax as a result.”

“Same difference,” Reed shrugs, elbowing him playfully. 

Jonah ignores him. He can pretend he doesn’t find it funny all he wants, but even with his face turned half away he can’t hide his smile. It’s impossible for Reed not to notice it anyway – every time he sees that little upturn at the corner of his lips he gets caught between making fun of him again or wanting to reel him in for a kiss. It’s infuriating.

It’s been a few weeks since they ran together at the track field. Getting breakfast that morning was a pleasant surprise; he hadn’t thought Jonah would say yes. He’s not sure how it became such a regular thing, this hanging out, only that he keeps asking and Jonah keeps saying yes, but he won’t complain about it. Being around Jonah is so  _ easy _ . When they’re together they make fun of their classes, their friends… each other. They laugh and they eat, or they laugh and get drunk, or they laugh and get lost wandering from one place to another. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is it’s them, just the two of them, going on adventures. Their own private thing.

“You wanna get out of here?” Jonah asks, once they’ve downed their last drinks.

“Had enough of me crushing you at pool?”

He snorts, but he doesn’t deny it.

They wander back slowly. Tuesday is always a quieter night than the rest of the week, Reed’s noticed. Whether that’s because none of the clubs are open past one, or that Tuesdays is the one night a week when most of the sports teams and societies actually sit down to do their coursework, he doesn’t know. But it’s nice. Peaceful, almost. It makes it easy to press up into Jonah’s side and slide a hand into his pocket.

Another one of those half-smiles appears on Jonah’s face, and he glances around the street. For a moment, Reed thinks he’s just going to ignore him and keep walking the way he sometimes does, but instead he slings one arm around his shoulders and brings them to a stop in the dark patch between two street lamps. Then, with his free hand, he gently pulls Reed’s face towards his own and presses a deep kiss to his lips.

They linger there for God knows how long, trading soft kisses, and Reed drinks in the warmth of them pressed up against one another like a man starved for it. They don’t stop until a couple of tipsy passersby spot them and hoot loudly, catcalling from the other side of the road. Jonah sighs, strokes a finger across Reed’s cheek and presses one last kiss to his jaw, then pulls away. 

“C’mon,” he says. “We should get back.”

Reed tries not to let the sudden loss of heat get to him. He tells himself that the hollow feeling in his chest is the chill from the late October air, not disappointment. It can’t be disappointment. 

The first time they kissed, it was in the creaky old elevator taking them back to their floor of the dorms. They hadn’t been hanging out that day, it had been a coincidence, Jonah had caught the doors as they were closing and slipped in beside him. He’d said something, Reed couldn’t remember what, but they’d both laughed about it. They’d both laughed and, seeing that stupid pleased smile, Reed had leaned forward and asked if he could kiss him. There were two beats of heart-pounding panic, thinking he’d gotten it wrong, and then Jonah had pressed him up against the wall. They’d kissed until they reached their floor and then, without a word, split up for their respective rooms. 

Much like the hanging out, it kept happening. Reed would ask, Jonah would kiss him, and it went on and on until Reed didn’t have to ask anymore. It feels so simple now, to lean in and press a kiss to the corner of Jonah’s mouth.  _ Too _ simple. 

The thing is, they don’t talk about it. Ever. Reed has no idea what Jonah’s thoughts are on the hanging out and the kissing, apart from the apparent notion that he doesn’t object to it. He’s unreadable, impossible to gauge on anything regarding emotions, and Reed doesn’t know what to do with that. It drives him a little bit nuts.

“Hey, you wanna go to the movies this weekend?” He asks, trying to squash down on the hopefulness taking hold of him. “They’re running a ‘Spookfest Special’ –  _ The Shining _ is playing.”

Jonah grimaces and Reed doesn’t think he’s entirely imagining the apologetic tone of his voice when he says, “I can’t.”

“Hot date?”

“Nah, it’s my mom’s birthday. I’m driving back home to see her.”

“Oh, well that’s… cool. Maybe another time.”

“Maybe.”

When they arrive back at the dorms, they both check the hallway before stepping out of the elevator together. Neither of them has told their friends they’re hanging out; Reed hears enough about TJ’s feelings without adding his own into the mix. Besides, he doesn’t particularly want to share it yet just – it’s their own private thing. He doesn’t know Jonah’s reasons for keeping it quiet, but he assumes it’s something to do with the fact that his friends all still think Reed is that inconsiderate kind of asshole who blows out his speakers every night and throws dorm parties when other people just want to get to sleep.

Well, they’re not wrong. But still. 

“Alright, well… see you later, I guess,” he says. “Get some rest. You’ll need it to recover from me  _ destroying _ you earlier. But I guess that’s what you get for taking on the King.”

Jonah huffs. 

“Beginner’s luck,” he smiles, stepping forward. “Rematch next week, when I’m back. I’m gonna take your crown.”

“In your dreams, loser,” Reed grins, and he laughs right into the kiss.


	9. Nine

Cyrus knots, unknots, and re-knots his tie three times before Andi intervenes. She tuts, laughing at him just a little bit as she straightens it up, but he doesn’t notice. He’s nervous. It’s been  _ forever _ since he’s been this nervous. 

“You need to calm down.”

“Easy for you to say,” he sighs, peering into the mirror to smooth down his hair. “You look like a princess.”

It’s true. With its flowing layers of pale pink tulle, Andi’s gown gives her the impression of having just stepped forth from the pages of a fairytale book. She beams at him, pleased, and he’s helpless but to grin back. She ought to be proud, after all, she designed the dress herself in class. 

“You look great too, Cyrus,” she says. “Jacob’s not gonna know what hit him.”

He hums noncommittally and glances back at the mirror. The suit had seemed like a good idea at the time. It’s an ice-blue number with delicate flowers embroidered in silver silk all the way down. A little bit flashy, but totally gorgeous. When they’d gone shopping for outfits and he’d seen it on sale for almost fifty percent off, it’d seemed like a sign. Now he’s not so sure.

“Do you think it’s too obnoxious?” He asks, pulling at his lapels. 

“No,” Andi says, sidling up with her phone to take a picture of them. “You look  _ regal _ . Much better than a boring black suit.”

“Hey!” Jonah complains, from where he’s lounging on his bed. 

Cyrus is a little bit jealous of how easily Jonah looks like a model, even in his boring plain suit. All he had done was take a shower and get dressed, no extra faff, meanwhile, it had taken Cyrus a good forty minutes to decide how he wanted his hair to look. With another glance at the mirror, he’s not too sure he’s made the right decision. Andi bats his hands away as he moves to smooth it down again.

“You look  _ great _ ,” she reiterates. 

“Yeah, I’d dance with you,” Jonah says, glancing up from the bed with a grin. 

In the corner of the room, Amber and Buffy are squabbling over space in front of the mirror. They needn’t, there’s plenty of room for the both of them, but Cyrus has begun to suspect they just like to bicker at this point. Like Jonah, Marty has put in as little effort as possible and is now taking a ‘light nap’ (loud snores reverberate around the room) on Cyrus’ bed. 

“Where are you meeting Jacob?” Buffy asks, twisting her hair up into a complicated bun and narrowly avoiding a sharp jab from Amber’s elbow.

“Downstairs,” Says Cyrus, checking his phone. “He’s ready when we are.”

“Never, then, at this rate,” Jonah mutters, and Buffy throws a makeup sponge at him.

In spite of Jonah’s doubts, they do eventually leave the building. They’re not the only ones headed to the Fall Ball. In fact, most of the building seems to be heading the same way. Everywhere they look, people in long evening gowns and smart tuxes are stumbling into the quad in various states of jittering excitement. More than once, Cyrus sees the flash of a flask being slipped quickly into a jacket pocket. 

Jacob is waiting for them in the student lounge. He looks… nice, Cyrus thinks, with his hands shoved in the pockets of his black suit. When he looks over and sees Cyrus, his eyebrows shoot upwards and the nerves come back full-force. They’ve been dating for a few weeks now, quiet trips to little coffee shops and evenings spent watching Jacob at lacrosse practice, and overall it’s been pretty pleasant. Jacob is sweet, almost doting, and they have the same taste in reality T.V. shows. Cyrus is safe with him. And happy. Definitely happy.

“Wow,” Jacob says, as they approach. “You uh… you sure went all out, huh?”

An unpleasant sinking sensation twists at Cyrus’ gut and he gives him a weak smile.

“Do you like it?” He asks, uncertainly.

“Sure,” Jacob says, but he doesn’t miss the beat of hesitation that comes first. “It’s, uh. Flashy.”

There’s an awkward pause. The silence seems to swell, and Cyrus can feel himself go red. It’s not quite the reaction he imagined. He glances around the lounge, half hoping to see TJ lurking somewhere nearby with Reed and Lester. He’s not even sure they’re going to the ball, but he’s sure even if they aren’t they wouldn’t miss the chance to hang about and make fun of everybody all dressed up. 

He hasn’t seen TJ in a while. In fact, it’s almost been a case of radio silence. Quite a few of his texts have gone unanswered, and TJ hasn’t appeared in the library or the laundry room for quite some time. Worry nags at him. Maybe TJ finally got bored.

“Should we go?” Buffy cuts in suddenly, clearing her throat. “We’ll miss all the good songs otherwise.”

They set off in near silence. Cyrus gives the room one last sweep and tells himself the deflating feeling inside of him is just nerves. 

When they step into the student art gallery, Cyrus forgets he was worried at all. He hears Andi gasp, and echoes the sound himself a second later. The LGBTQ+ Society have outdone themselves. In just a couple of steps, they’ve strolled out of their campus and right into a fairytale wonderland. 

High above them, thousands of glittering string lights and autumn leaves hang from the rafters. The sweeping staircase up into the smaller galleries has been taken over for photos, with people draping themselves across the banisters as professional photographers snap picture after picture, and people hang over the balconies at the top looking down at the wide hall below. 

At the edges of the room, small tables are dotted around with large candle-lit glass lanterns at the centre, the white cloths scattered with artfully arranged petals, miniature pumpkins and leaves. A vast buffet table filled with miniature pumpkin pies, candied apples and tankards of help-yourself-hot-chocolate takes up the left side. 

“Wow,” Cyrus says. “They weren’t lying when they said the society knows how to throw a party.”

“I think they have churros…” Marty says distractedly, wandering off in the direction of the buffet. 

Buffy rolls her eyes fondly and trails after him. There’s a band playing, as in a  _ real  _ classical band dressed to the nines, and the familiar tune of Billie Eilish’s  _ Bad Guy _ is not something Cyrus ever expected to hear from a string quartet. 

“You want a drink?” Jacob asks, once they’ve found a free table and settled themselves in. 

“Sure,” Cyrus begins to say, but he’s interrupted by a group of burly lacrosse players who appear behind Jacob and begin slapping him on the back in greeting and his attention is lost. It’s all very macho. From across the table, Andi makes a face and Cyrus fights back a giggle, shrugging in response. The urge gets harder to ignore when Jacob turns and introduces him to the guys – Cyrus has never shaken that many hands in a row.

Busying himself with taking everything in, he tunes out the rambunctious group as they tug chairs over to settle down around the table. He’s been to dances before, but his high school gymnasium doesn’t quite measure up to the scale of this. It’s no wonder so many people want to get involved with college socials if this is the kind of thing they entail. 

He’s just admiring the centerpieces when he lifts his eyes and feels his breath slip away. Across the room, a familiar figure dressed in deep green steps out into the gallery. When TJ’s eyes meet his cross the room, a smile breaks out across his face. Cyrus feels his heart thump as he lifts his hand to give a small wave. TJ raises the glass in his hand, nodding to him in a silent toast. 

“...Right, Cyrus?”

Cyrus’ attention is pulled away by Jacob’s hand on top of his. He’s looking at him expectantly, a couple of his teammates nodding along in agreement to whatever he’d said. 

“Sorry, what?” 

Jacob launches back into a lengthy and startlingly good review of a restaurant they visited last week, and Cyrus nods along. He thinks it’s best not to mention that the food made him sick that night, and, since the wait staff hadn’t ID’d them, Jacob had ordered so many beers that he’d had to half carry him back to the dorms. 

When he looks back to the entryway, TJ is gone. 

An hour later, they’re still sitting at the table. Everyone else has gotten up to dance once or twice now. Cyrus had asked Jacob if he wanted to dance, but he had just rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“It’s not really my thing.”

“Oh. Right.”

Andi had suggested Cyrus come dance with her and Amber, but, with the soppy looks the two of them kept shooting each other from across the table, he hadn’t wanted to intrude. Instead, he’d stayed behind and resigned himself to spending the evening watching his friends twirl one another around the dancefloor.

He picks at the plate of little cinnamon doughnuts that Marty had retrieved for him earlier and puts every piece of effort he has into not zoning out on the boisterous conversation Jacob and his friends are having about fantasy football. Not that it’s necessary. Not one of them has even looked at him for the past ten minutes. They’re paying the flask they’ve been passing around more attention than him. 

“I’m going to get a drink,” he says, finally giving in and standing up. 

“Sure thing,” Jacob says, glancing at him with a distracted smile before launching back into their discussion. 

Cyrus lingers there for another moment, considering asking if he wants anything, but it doesn’t seem worth it. The soda he brought him when they first sat down is still sitting untouched on the table. 

Dodging through the crowd on his way across the dancefloor is more difficult than he first anticipated, and by the time he’s reached the buffet he’s thoroughly out of breath. He leans across a pillar, taking a moment to regather his bearings, and that’s when he spots it.

The signpost had escaped his notice earlier, and looking at it now he’s not sure how. It’s a large crooked wooden thing, the kind you would find on a country lane, whimsically decorated with the same strings of leaf-lights that hang from the ceiling. It points in three different directions;

**_Bathrooms._ **

**_Dancefloor._ **

**_Garden._ **

Garden? Before he can think better of it, Cyrus darts through the arching doorway to which the sign points. He needs some air, just for a moment, and a garden sounds like the perfect place to catch a moment to himself.

It’s just as beautiful as indoors – it’s somewhat a surprise that there are so few people outside, even if it is a little cold. The garden isn’t big, and it’s more like a courtyard pressed into the space between the art buildings, but evergreen hedges and trees line the edges and the archways are decorated with hanging lanterns. As he heads down the small passage which opens out into the yard, he passes a harp player plucking a delicate tune for a tired-but-happy looking couple resting against the wall. And when he reaches the centre he finds a pretty stone fountain splashing away in the middle, four intricately twisted iron benches surrounding it.

Cyrus isn’t the only one who needs some air.

“You get tired of dancing?”

TJ’s head snaps up at the sound of his voice, eyes brightening, and Cyrus squashes down the pleased flutter in his gut at the wide smile of surprise he gives him. He scooches up the bench, making room, and the grin only gets wider when he sits.

“Something like that,” says TJ. “What about you?”

Cyrus shrugs. “Needed some air.”

“I get that, it is pretty crowded in there.”

“Yeah. Kind of amazing, though. They did a great job on the decorations. I can’t believe how fancy everything is.”

“A lot of work went into it,” TJ shrugs, and his gaze sweeps up and down Cyrus’ clothes in appreciation. He can feel a blush coming on again. “You look amazing too, by the way.”

“Thanks,” he says, ducking his head. “You do too.”

He leaves out the fact that TJ’s own suit brings out the colour in his eyes. A pleasant sea of green. For some reason, he can feel his blush deepening. He focuses on the fountain in front of them, distracting himself with the little golden plaque stating that it was donated by an alumnus at the art school. Even with the sudden fluster he’s feeling, the garden is peaceful. Music from the harp player drifts sweetly through the air. TJ hums along quietly. 

“I feel like I’ve hardly seen you at all this week,” Cyrus says, watching droplets of water smatter the stone floor. “Where’ve you been?”

“Oh… uh. Just a little busy, you know. Studying.”

Cyrus shoots him a look of disbelief. He’s seen TJ open his textbooks exactly twice, and one of those times it was to show him a funny illustration that had made him laugh in class. TJ won’t catch his eye. 

“Well… can you find some free time in your busy schedule to get coffee soon? It’s not the same without you.”

TJ does look at him then, his smile returning.

“You just like stealing my drinks.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cyrus lies, his own smile creeping onto his face. 

They lapse into quiet again for a moment. Cyrus realises he recognises the song playing, it’s one of his mom’s favourites,  _ Kiss Me _ by  _ Sixpence None The Richer. _

“Hey, do you wanna dance?” TJ asks suddenly. “If you’re not too tired from dancing already, that is.”

“Kind of hard to get tired of dancing when you haven’t done any.”

TJ huffs, standing up and offering him a hand. Cyrus stares at it for a second, he hadn’t realised he was being serious, and in a moment of insanity he takes it, allowing TJ to pull him in close.

Their palms are warm pressed together, and the woodsy scent of TJ’s aftershave envelopes him. After a clumsy first couple of steps, they fall into a gentle swaying rhythm. Hm, TJ’s not a bad dancer, actually. He leads easily, letting Cyrus closer his eyes as he follows for a second. Would putting his head on TJ’s shoulder be too much? Because that’s all he wants to do. He’s still contemplating it when TJ starts to sing, murmuring softly in his ear. 

“ _...lead me out on the moonlit floor. Lift your open hand, strike up the band, and make the fireflies dance, silver moon's sparkling… _ ”

It can’t hurt, just to rest his head on his shoulder for a moment. He leans against Jonah and Marty all the time when they’re watching movies. It’s the kind of thing friends do. 

“Sorry I’ve been so busy,” TJ nearly whispers. “I’ve just… I’ve had a lot on my mind.” 

“It’s okay, we all get busy sometimes,” Cyrus replies softly. “I kinda thought you were avoiding me, for a little bit. Does that sound super self involved?”

TJ shakes his head. 

“I should’ve texted you or something.”

“Who’re you here with, anyway? I wasn’t sure you were coming tonight.” 

“I came stag, more fun that way, y’know?”

He doesn’t, but he nods anyway. 

“How come you didn’t bring that girl?”

“That girl?”

“You know… the pretty one who stayed in your room a couple of weeks ago.”

“...You mean Kira?”

He shrugs. TJ shakes his head.

“Kira’s just a friend. From home. She just came down to visit.”

He puts emphasis on the word friend and a small burst of embarrassment and shame overtakes Cyrus’ thought process. Why hadn’t he just thought to ask TJ when he saw them together in the first place? It would have saved him a lot of sleepless nights. 

“Jonah came stag too.”

When he looks up, he sees TJ’s expression flickering slightly, and Cyrus gets the impression he’s holding back a laugh. He can’t see why – TJ and Jonah are in the same boat. 

“He’s a decent looking guy. He won’t stay stag for long.”

Something hot and itchy flares up in his chest. A new worry starts to grapple at the edge of his thoughts. Cyrus frowns.

“Are you… I mean, do you  _ like  _ Jonah?”

TJ’s laugh is so deep that Cyrus feels it reverberate through his own chest. They have to pause in their steps for a moment so he can regain his bearings.

“Beck? You think I like Beck? Ha. No. No, no. Not my type. He hates me anyway.”

Cyrus swallows. 

“I mean, if he got to know you…”

“I’m not into Beck, Cyrus.”

“Okay.”

It's a brief relief, but it's followed quickly by a wave of guilt. He wants to change the subject but finds he can't leave it alone for some reason. 

“Is there anyone? That you’re into, I mean.”

He glances up furtively and finds TJ gazing down at him. His breath hitches, heart thumping hard in his chest, as TJ wets his lips. 

“I–” TJ starts, and Cyrus realises how closer they are now. 

In the cold air, their warm breaths mingle in the form of mist between their mouths. They’re so closer, Cyrus is certain he must be able to feel the way his heart is pounding against his own chest. The music crescendos bright and sweet around them, and he closes his eyes, leaning forward.

“Cyrus?!”

They spring apart, startled by the voice, and Jacob comes stumbling out of the archway into the courtyard. He beams when he spots them, tottering over and throwing an arm around Cyrus’ shoulders. 

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over – how’s it going, Kippen?” He reaches out a fist, and TJ bumps his own against it warily. 

“Andi wants pictures,” Jacob announces. “You ready to head back in?”

“Sure,” Cyrus agrees, refusing to look at TJ. He’s sure that the guilt is written all over his own face, and suddenly he’s glad that Jacob’s friends had been passing their flask around so freely. “Let’s go.”

He allows Jacob to steer him back inside, ignoring the prickling feeling of being watched as they leave TJ standing alone in the garden. The others are waiting on the grand staircase for them when they arrive. Buffy punches him on the arm with her own tipsy giggle. 

“Where did you disappear to?”

“Oh, I just… ran into TJ.”

“Ugh,” she huffs. “That guy. Gross.”

“Yeah,” Cyrus mutters as they all line up to pose. “Gross. Totally.”


End file.
